


I Live On What's Left

by Longpig



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Non-Penetrative Sex, Not Prime Time, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Shatt, Shiro in Captivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-05 06:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: Matt can't stand to see Shiro in pain... even if he's not sure he's still the Shiro he once loved.





	I Live On What's Left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/gifts).



The holding cells are cold, and there aren’t enough blankets to go around. Many of the prisoners sleep close together for warmth, or comfort. Matt isn’t even sure whether it is night - the lights never dim or brighten, and there’s no real way to mark the passage of minutes, hours, or days  - but the circadian rhythms of the majority seem to have decided that it’s time to rest. Whatever the hour might be, Matt doesn’t feel like sleeping. He’s lying on the cold metal floor, at the edge of the group, staring at the ceiling, and listening. All around him are the sounds of bodies shifting, breathing, snoring, and farting; but what he hears the most clearly is Shiro. Crying.

He’s curled up on his side in the far corner of the cell, alone. The others give him a wide berth. ‘The Champion,’ they call him, but they’re afraid. Matt is too, a little. Shiro has made himself into a monster, turned himself into whatever the Galra want him to be so that they’ll focus their attention on him, instead of the rest of them.  _ Instead of me. _ And they’ve been paying him lots of attention - Shiro’s been spending less and less time in the cells, always fighting in the pits, or taken off for god knows what else. It feels like days since Matt’s seen him at all. Matt’s learned to keep his distance from the Champion - his shoulder still aches sometimes where it was wrenched out of its socket, and he considers himself lucky that the Galra medic decided to eventually just return him here rather than simply feed the damaged goods to whatever they have instead of dogs.

But it’s not the Champion lying on the other side of the cell right now; at least, Matt doesn’t think so. And while the other captives can sleep, or pretend not to hear, Shiro’s quiet sobs are tearing him apart. 

He can’t take it any longer. He rolls over and crawls across the cell, to where Shiro is huddled under a threadbare, grimy blanket. His back is towards Matt, his broad shoulders shaking as he weeps. Matt catches a few muttered words, but nothing coherent - mostly just  _ please _ and  _ no _ , over and over again.

“Shiro,” he whispers. He doesn’t think the sentries are due for their check anytime soon, but it’s hard to be sure, and it’s always smarter not to draw any undue attention.

Shiro doesn’t answer.  _ He’s asleep, _ Matt realizes.  _ Having a nightmare. _ He hesitates, uncertain whether maybe he should leave him be, and go back to failing to sleep. Tentative, he reaches out and lays a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and gives him a gentle shake.

Shiro’s eyes fly open as he startles awake; his muscles tensing beneath Matt’s touch. Before Matt can react, he has him on his back, straddling him, his hands wrapped around his throat. Shiro’s eyes are blank, his face a snarling mask as he presses down on Matt’s windpipe. Panicking, Matt kicks and flails, but he’s no match for Shiro’s strength.  _ He’s going to kill me! _

“Shiro!” he manages to gasp out as his vision starts to dim, “it’s me! It’s Matt!” Shiro blinks; his vision seems to clear, and he yanks his hands back from Matt’s neck as though they’ve been burned. Matt coughs and sputters, trying to get air back into his lungs.

“Matt… Fuck.” Shiro looks down at him, eyes wide, horrified. “I… I could’ve…”

“I’m okay,” Matt manages to rasp.

He pushes himself off Matt’s prone body and sits next to him on the floor. He stares at his hands, his face ashen. Up close, Matt can see that his fringe is going white at the roots.  _ What are they doing to you? _

“You shouldn’t have... I mean, I almost…”  

Matt sits up, and takes Shiro’s shaking hands in his. 

“You were having a nightmare,” he says gently. “I - I couldn’t stand hearing you in pain.” Shiro’s dark eyes, still wet and red-rimmed, soften, and before Matt knows what’s happening, his arms are wrapped around him, pulling him close against his chest.

“God. Matt, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into Matt’s hair. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, and Matt knows he doesn’t mean just what’s happened tonight. He leans into the embrace, resting his head against Shiro’s muscular chest, and winding his arms around his waist. It’s been so long, so very long since they’ve been this close. It’s bittersweet.

“I know,” he sighs. “I understand why it has to be this way.” And he does, really; but that doesn’t make it easier. “But… do you think I could stay here with you tonight? Just for a while?” Shiro doesn’t answer right away, and Matt’s heart sinks.  _ He doesn’t want them to know he’s vulnerable…  _  He pulls away, but when Matt looks up there’s the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Yeah… I’d like that.” He reaches over and shakes out the blanket, then wraps it around Matt’s shoulders, and they lie down together, getting comfortable as best they can on the metal deck. Matt presses himself against Shiro, slotting one leg between his powerful thighs, and hooking the other behind his knee.  _ We still fit together _ . Here in his arms, feeling the heat of his body, breathing his scent, Matt can all but pretend that everything is normal, like it’s just the two of them. It’s almost too familiar - his body falls into old habits and he feels a growing tightness in his pants, warmth spreading out from his core. Guilt gnaws at him. He knows - well, suspects - what price Shiro is paying for his fame in the pits. He’s seen things, on the rare occasions when the prisoners are allowed to wash: the deep scratches through the lattice of scars on Shiro’s back, the bite marks on his shoulders and thighs that didn’t come from any battle. He doesn’t want to ask anything of him, but entwined as they are, Shiro can’t fail to notice his arousal.

“Matt…” Shiro’s voice is barely a whisper. Shame burning in his cheeks, Matt starts to draw back, but then Shiro shifts against him and he feels a pressure against his hip, hot and thick. He lifts his head; Shiro is staring down at him, his gaze soft, pupils blown wide. He cups Matt’s face with his hand, rough and calloused from the arena, and tilts his chin upward. When their lips meet it’s as sweet as water in the desert. Matt has been aching for this; this tenderness, this connection. Shiro’s mouth opens to his and Matt kisses him more deeply, his whole body throbbing with longing. He lets his hands wander over his chest and shoulders, then slips one hand between Shiro’s legs. Shiro presses his erection against his palm, moaning softly into his mouth. Matt breaks the kiss, leaning back to look up at him again.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He strokes Shiro’s shaft lightly, tentatively, through the coarse fabric. His eyes are half-closed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Yeah… I just --” he draws a sharp breath through clenched teeth as Matt tightens his grip. “Just touch me… please. I need… need to feel something good.”  _ I can do that much, at least. _ He pulls at Shiro’s trousers, freeing his swollen cock. Reaching lower, he gently strokes Shiro’s balls with just his fingertips, teasing the sensitive skin until he makes a sound that’s half moan, half whimper. Matt stifles it with another kiss, and moves his hand to grasp his cock. It’s so thick he can barely get his fingers around it, and Matt wishes he could taste it, or feel it inside him; but maybe that’s more than Shiro can handle. His own dick is so hard it almost hurts, chafing against the roughspun material of his pants, but he can take care of that later. He focuses his attention on Shiro, and starts to work his hand up and down the length of his shaft, slowly at first, then speeding up as he feels Shiro start to rock his hips into his strokes. His mouth grows hungrier, his tongue pushing into Matt’s mouth with more and more urgency, his hand tangling in his hair. He feels a tug at his waistband, and then Shiro’s other hand is wrapped tightly around his cock, jerking it in time with his own movements. A loud moan escapes his lips; he wasn’t expecting Shiro to reciprocate.

“You don’t have to,” he manages to get out, even though it feels so good he might cry if Shiro stops.

“Shh,” Shiro whispers, and kisses him once more. Matt doesn’t protest again, but surrenders to the sensations, the hot coil of pleasure tightening at the base of his spine. They’re both leaking steadily, and Matt is sure that anyone who’s awake can hear the slick, wet sounds they’re making, but he’s past caring. They’re hardly the first couple here to find comfort this way, anyhow.

Shiro’s breaths are quick and ragged in Matt’s ear, and he thrusts harder into his hand. He’s close, Matt can tell. He quickens his pace, swirling his thumb over the sensitive head of Shiro’s dick with every stroke, across the dripping slit. Shiro matches his movements, and Matt feels his own climax building. He clutches at Shiro’s shoulder for leverage, circling his hips in time with the motions. Shiro’s grip on the back of his neck tightens as he nears the edge, breathing harder and harder until finally his hips jerk abruptly and he comes in hot milky splashes all over Matt’s hand, moaning into his hair. When Shiro’s fingers tense around his cock, it’s all over for Matt too, and his orgasm hits him so hard he sees stars as he spills a flood of thick pearly fluid across Shiro’s thighs. 

They stroke each other through the aftershocks, until they’re both limp and panting, sweaty and sticky. Shiro uses the blanket to clean them up as best he can - because what’s a few more stains on an already filthy rag - and then they collapse together on the floor, Shiro lying on his back with Matt’s head resting on his chest, and his arm around his shoulders. Matt lets the afterglow warm him as he listens to the reassuring thrum of Shiro’s heartbeat, slowing to normal.

“I miss you,” Matt says softly. He doesn’t mean to; it just slips out. Shiro sighs, and holds him closer.

“I know.” His voice is thick, heavy with sorrow and regret. There’s not really anything else to say.

Tomorrow, Matt knows, the Champion will be back. But for now, he takes what he can get.

Whatever Shiro has left to give.


End file.
